The Broken Bell

by Frank Tuttle

  I stopped and grabbed a handbill myself. RANNIT TO FALL TO INVADERS, it announced, emphasizing its point with a crude rendition of the High House and the Big Bell consumed by leaping flames. OLD KINGDOM KING SEEKS TO REGAIN THRONE.

  I crumpled it up and tossed it out the window. As if the man calling himself King was any more the cause behind this than myself, or old Mr. Bull.

  We rounded the corner on Cambrit. I sat up and peeked out my window, hoping to find my poor door intact and unmolested.

  It was intact, but it wasn’t alone. A big man leaned against it, and two of his big-boned friends helped him idle by squatting on either side of him. Their clothes were ragged and filthy, right out of Pot Lockney.

  I cussed, sighed and bade the driver to keep going. If I was forced to fight my way to my icebox and its heavenly stash of beer, I needed reinforcements, and I knew a man who owed me a favor.

  We walked all the way back to my place. I wasn’t in favor of it, but Grist insisted, claiming exercise left him sharp and invigorated.

  I’d shrugged, half-hoping the trio of bumpkins might have given up and gone by the time we arrived at my office.

  They hadn’t. Maybe it was the hex that brought them to their feet when Grist and I drew near. Maybe they’d sneaked around enough to see me from a distance and recognize me. Maybe they knew trouble was coming.

  Too bad they didn’t know what kind of trouble.

  Three big strong country boys. It took Grist exactly five blows to lay the trio out cold in the street. He took a single blow to his chin, which had all the apparent effect of a tap from a feather pillow.

  “You are as good as they say.”

  He grinned and nudged the biggest of the three with the toe of his boot. “What you want done with these?”

  A small crowd was gathering. Flowers was among them. I flipped him a copper and bade him fetch the Watch.

  “Leave ’em. The Watch can haul them off when they come around. If they get up and try to make tracks before that, put them back to sleep.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  I nodded. Hell, he’d not even drawn a deep breath. I made a mental note to never cross Mills. My stunt with the bricks wouldn’t work a second time.

  I unlocked my door, peeped inside and saw the band of flour across my threshold was undisturbed. The stink of the hex was strong, but I decided it was all from the trio snoozing in the street, so I opened the door and stepped inside.

  No one leaped atop me. No ballista threw from the shadows behind my desk. I went into the back and checked my tiny closet and peeked beneath my lonely bed. Aside from an ancient hairball hacked up by Three-leg in the prehistoric mists of time, I was alone.

  So I did what all good officers do on the eve of war.

  I put my feet on my desk and closed my eyes, and I slept, good and hard.

  The Watch came and collected my new friends and left without bothering to wake me. Mills signed the complaint and that was that.

  That bought me an extra couple of hours of sleep. I needed it, even though getting it made me miss the chance to head down to the Old Ruth and pester the new batch of hillbillies with questions they probably couldn’t answer anyway.

  Judging from the dark and the quiet outside, I figured I had maybe three hours before Curfew. My first thought was to head up to Avalante to see Evis and Gertriss, and my second was to cuss when I remembered they were miles out of Rannit by now, steaming against the Brown with a few tons of temperamental gunpowder in tow.

  My appointment with Lethway wasn’t until tomorrow night. Darla was safely tucked away with Mary. Tamar was still in hiding.

  That left nobody to pester but Tamar’s parents.

  I rummaged around in the back for a clean shirt and some socks that didn’t smell like Three-leg. In a fit of nap-fueled verve, I threw my shaving kit and a comb and some of that fancy hair tonic Darla favors into my bathing kit as well.

  I gathered it all up and called Mills inside and laid out the night. He nodded and asked a question or two and was generally the very model of the highly paid employee.

  He waited outside the bathhouse while I bathed. He sat across from me in the cab when we left. His eyes never closed, never stopped moving. He reminded me of me—a few years and a dozen centuries ago.

  Had I really gotten that soft?

  I didn’t bother with the bakery. I knew the law-abiding Fields would have shuttered the windows and locked the doors about the time I left the bathhouse. I had the cabbie take a circuitous route downtown, and make a few extra blocks before heading toward the Fields home. If anyone was following us, they were good enough to avoid being spotted either by myself or my sharp hired eyes.

  I had the cabbie drive us past the Fields house a couple of times, confident we’d be lost in the steady flow of traffic. I saw lights in the windows and people moving behind curtains, but not a hint of mayhem.

  I wondered just where they’d stashed Tamar after the kidnap attempt. My money was on the very house I was watching. Whether the kidnappers would bother to try and find out was anybody’s guess.

  “We going in?” asked Mills.

  “Nope. We’re just going to watch, for a while.” I pointed to a stand of shrubs that needed trimming just across the street. “It’s dark enough, I think.”

  He nodded once. I called the cab to a halt half a block away and we hoofed it back to the bushes I’d chosen and picked out a couple of patches of deep shadow.

  “So this is what finders do for fun,” whispered Mills.

  “Most nights I have brandy with the Regent. This is a rare exception.”

  Mills pointed with his chin. “I count seven people so far.”

  “Should be ten at least. Maybe more, if Fields has any sense.”

  “Does he?”

  “Not sure.”

  “So we’re waiting here just in case someone takes a stab at him?”

  “That. Or anything, really. I’m just flipping over rocks, hoping something crawls out.”

  “Ah.”

  We didn’t speak again for an hour. The man was quiet. He shifted his weight from leg to leg and breathed through his nose and I believe if I’d asked him later how many bats swooped around the gas lamp at the corner he could give me a figure and not be making it up.

  The Big Bell rang out Curfew. Cab traffic ground to a near halt. Pedestrian traffic was at home slipping sleeping caps on their weary little heads.

  I was fighting off a doze when Mills tensed and lifted his hand to point.

  He didn’t speak, but I saw it. A sliver of light grew abruptly to a slab and a man-shaped figure darted through it and then it was gone.

  Mills gave me a What the Hell? look.

  We’d just watched a door open in a wall that had no doors.

  I squinted past the saw-edged leaves of the bush that concealed us. There, in the yard, a man darted toward the street. He was clad in a loose black cloak and his head was covered by a black hood, and he had the sense to keep his hands inside those long sleeves, but he couldn’t hide his girth or the fact that his short fat legs hadn’t been asked to run anywhere since the War.

  “That’s Fields,” I whispered.

  Mills nodded, watching.

  A carriage came rolling down the street. Fields hustled right toward it, all but waving it to a halt. The carriage driver saw him, and slowed, and damned if they didn’t meet right under the street-lamp.

  I never saw Fields clearly. I didn’t need too. Someone had removed the brass insignia from the carriage before leaving to pick up Fields—but they hadn’t bothered to wash down the door, which meant the shape of the Lethway Mining crest was plain even at a distance, and even in the dark.

  “Amateurs,” whispered Mills.

  I nodded. We waited. The carriage rolled past, Fields aboard.

  I didn’t race out to stop it. If Lethway had lured Fields out with the intention of slitting his throat, he’d have sent a half dozen unsqueamish men to handle the job. I had a sing
le assistant at my side, who might be willing to bruise a few heads for me, but would wisely draw the line at outright massacre.

  “You didn’t expect that,” he said as the carriage vanished in the night.

  “No. That’s the problem with kicking over rocks. Never know what’s under them.”

  “What now?”

  “No way to follow. So we wait. If he comes back breathing, I’ll ask him where he’s been.”

  Another nod.

  “I could make it over there, if you want. See how he did that door trick.”

  I shook my head no. “We know he can do it. That’s enough for now.”

  No argument. If only Gertriss were here to take note.

  I had no idea where Fields was heading, or how long it would be before he returned, if he ever did. Part of me was sure the little baker had baked his last pie—if Lethway was getting nervous enough to burn down the Barracks, he wouldn’t blink at the prospect of decapitating a former partner in crime.

  I had Fields dead if not buried when a quarter of an hour later the same black carriage rolled back around and halted briefly in front of the Fields’s house. When the carriage rolled away, Fields was halfway to his door, legs pumping, robes flapping.

  “I’ll be damned.”

  He didn’t bother with his hidden door, but walked right up to the front door, opened it with a key, and darted inside. He didn’t light a lamp.

  I doubted Mrs. Fields or anyone else realized he’d been gone.

  I’d have to keep a closer eye on my sneaky baker man.

  “What was that all about?”

  I shrugged. My back popped. Half the windows in the home were still lit.

  “Why don’t we go ask?” I checked the street for halfdead, not really expecting any, but not wanting Mills to think me a man devoid of due caution. “We might even snare a leftover donut.”

  “Both of us?”

  An hour earlier I’d have insisted on going alone. Secret doors and midnight meetings left me less willing to take the risk.

  “I’ll introduce you as Mr. Smith, if you prefer. Claim you’re new in town, from Horn or Latter or anywhere you please.”

  He chuckled. “No need.”

  We stepped out of our concealing shadow and made for the door.

  A pair of butlers armed with crossbows greeted us. I could see another pair of worthies lurking behind various corners, ready to join the welcome should festivities be declared.

  It took a bit of talking, but Mills and I were eventually frisked and allowed inside and gruffly seated at one end of a formal sitting room while half a dozen male staffers glared at us from the other. It was Mrs. Mills who made the first appearance, all smiles and welcomes, but even that didn’t reduce the number of men watching us or soften a single one of their expressions.

  We did manage a pair of donuts. I’ve never been observed with such suspicion while consuming a glazed pastry.

  Mr. Fields made us wait half an hour before he deigned to join us in a library. He surprised me by dismissing his staff and closing the door firmly behind them.

  He left the door, crossed the room and settled back into a well-worn leather chair. That put a desk between us. Knowing the kinds of things I keep in, under and around my desk didn’t help my digestion.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon, Mr. Markhat.” He did not smile. “Who is your friend?”

  “Mills,” replied Mills. “I’m just here to keep things civil. Don’t mind me.”

  “I won’t.” Fields turned his gaze to me. “Well?”

  “So, how is Pratt tonight?” I was guessing, but he flinched, just a bit, and I knew I’d landed the first blow.

  “I don’t know any Pratt. I haven’t had any visitors, either.”

  I smiled. “No need to receive visitors when you have a handy secret door you can slip out of whenever you like. You must have a paid a small fortune for that one. One way, isn’t it? Invisible from the outside, probably hidden in the back of a coat closet on the inside—”

  He glared. I shut up. I’d made my point.

  Better to leave them wondering just how much you know than to keep talking and stumble.

  “I’ve made the acquaintance of Mr. Pratt myself, Mr. Fields. Funny, he never mentioned that you and he were friends.”

  “We are not friends. I only met the man recently. And it was he who insisted we meet, Mr. Markhat. He said he had information about the men who tried to take Tamar.”

  It was my turn to suppress a flinch. But I’m better at it than Fields, so I just turned it into a knowing sort of nod.

  “Did he now.”

  Fields cussed. “I didn’t need Pratt to tell me it was Lethway who arranged for those animals to invade my home and lay hands on my daughter, Markhat. I knew it from the start. All his man Pratt did was provide me with the proof.” He rummaged in his desk and pulled out a parcel wrapped in plain brown paper and thrust it on the desk.

  “Here. As if you don’t already know.”

  Mills saved me the trouble of formulating a reply by unwrapping the parcel himself.

  Inside was the bloodied head of the walking stick that Tamar had used to kill her attacker. The Lethway Mining crest was engraved on it and covered in blood.

  I nodded, as if I’d wrapped the thing myself.

  “So now you know.”

  “No thanks to you.”

  “I wasn’t asking for any thanks. I’m going to pull Lethway’s teeth for you. You can thank me for that, when I’m done.”

  Something in Fields’s eyes went cold.

  “How much would you charge to just kill the bastard?”

  I stood. Mills followed suit.

  “Not my line, Mr. Fields. Believe me when I tell you this. You can’t afford the kind of muscle that would take.”

  “I’m not a poor man.”

  “And I’m not a stupid one. Good night, Mr. Fields. I suggest you get some sleep, and forget all about hiring a killing. All you’ll be buying is trouble.”

  He had no reply. We showed ourselves out.

  The street was quiet. A few carriages rattled past in the distance, barely audible above the crickets. I patted my Avalante pin and set a brisk pace, Mills at my side. If he was concerned about breaking Curfew he didn’t show it.

  I thought about the bloody walking stick. I’d pinned that on the same people who had grabbed Carris. Now Pratt had seemingly laid that at Lethway’s door.

  Why, though?

  Maybe Lethway was worried that Fields might be tempted to turn on him, and wanted Tamar as leverage. Maybe Fields had never really written himself out of the Lethway payroll, and was bucking for a raise, and Tamar was Lethway’s way of saying ‘no.’

  “My line of work is a lot simpler.” Mills must have guessed the nature of my thoughts. “Very little ambiguity.”

  “Ambiguity pays my bills. Speaking of which. I need to head up to Avalante. I won’t dock you any pay if you decide you’d rather call it a night.”

  Mills shrugged. “I’m not worried if you’re not. That pin ever actually turned any halfdead away?”

  I thought back to the pair that had killed the little pig herder down on the docks.

  “It has. They bow and doff their hats, and then it’s heels and toes and flapping capes.”

  He laughed. “I’d like to see that, I think. I’ll come along.”

  “We’ll be hoofing it.” A ghost of an idea presented itself. “Or not. Keep a sharp eye out for Army wagons. We might catch a ride after all.”

  He lifted an eyebrow, but if he thought I was crazy he kept it to himself.

  We set our sights on the tops of the crematorium smokestacks and headed for the Brown.

  Evis was right.

  I’d flagged down an army tallboy at the corner of Wesson and Grade. It was driven by a sergeant and conveying a pair of sleepy lieutenants.

  I only had to say my name once, and Mills and I were welcomed aboard while the pair of lieutenants took to the stree
t with barely a muttered curse and murderous glare.

  The sergeant snapped his reins and we were off, headed for Avalante, courtesy of the Army of the Regency.

  Mills ogled.

  “How in the Hell?”

  I shrugged. “Friends in high places. You really don’t want to know more than that.”

  He closed his mouth. I turned away before my grin got any wider.

  Bridge clowns avoid the black carriages of the halfdead, but they have no such respect for the weathered vehicles of the army. I was glad only a few clowns were present, since they took to throwing broken bricks and chunks of mortar. The driver raced across at breakneck speed, and I was doubly glad we weren’t meeting any traffic.

  The driver, it turned out, had never been across the Brown, so he took several wrong turns before we found Avalante. I bade him pull to the curb and wait, and spent a few minutes reassuring him he was safer here in the heart of the halfdead district than he’d ever been in neighborhoods like mine—as long as he remained in uniform and atop an army troop wagon.

  Mills and I left him there and made for Avalante’s tall, dark doors. They opened well before we arrived, and we were immediately surrounded by half a dozen pale, fluid figures dressed in Avalante black.

  “Good evening, fellows,” I said, smiling. “You know me. This is my associate, Mr. Mills. We’ve come to hear the news from the fishermen.”

  They nodded. None spoke. All formed lines flanking the doors, and a single pale hand bade us enter.

  I glanced over at Mills. His jaw was set and his fists were clenched. But he managed a grin, and his step never faltered.

  Jerle, the day man, was either in his bed or heading that way. A halfdead I’d never met appeared as we stepped over the threshold and guided us silently to a sitting room, then closed the door behind us.

  Mills looked about. He chose a seat facing the door. A light sheen of sweat formed on his temple.

  “Relax,” I said. “I’m practically House myself. You’re safer here than you are at home.”

  He nodded and swallowed.

  We didn’t wait long. Our pale friend was back, waving me forward, and asking Mills quietly if he would like refreshments while he waited.